


Close and Lock the Door

by SassyEggs



Series: Under Construction [2]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Fluff and Smut, More silly than smutty, More syrupy than smutty, Sexual Content, Smut, i tried!, kinda smutty
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-13
Updated: 2015-07-14
Packaged: 2018-04-09 04:43:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 10,290
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4334312
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SassyEggs/pseuds/SassyEggs
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Follow-up to 'Under Construction"</p><p>AKA</p><p>Sassy's Choose-Your-Own Adventure!</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Close the Door

**Author's Note:**

> Option A: Wide-eyed virgin
> 
> I tried, y'all, but I tend to get a little silly and that just came right on through no matter how much I fought against it.

_Oh God, Sansa, what are you doing?_

It was easily the most brazen thing she’d ever done, the kind of thing the seductive heroine did in every Hollywood-style movie she’d ever seen.  And now she was there, her hand still on the doorknob, and feeling like her brain just wrote a check that her body wasn’t ready to cash.  What was she supposed to do now?  No, that was the wrong question; she _knew_ what she was supposed to do now, the question was… did she want to?  Or was she going to open this door and scurry right out of here? 

She glanced at his reflection in the mirror.  He was watching her with a mix of surprise and apprehension, clearly unsure of what to do or what _she_ would do.  It had become sort of a game between them, surprising each other, keeping the other on their toes.  She liked it when he surprised her, but she liked it more when she could surprise him.  So… yeah.  She wanted to.

Dropping her hand from the doorknob, she turned to him with a shy smile playing at her lips.  He suddenly seemed miles away, the smooth tile of the small bathroom stretching absurdly between them as she started walking towards him.  _By the time I reach him, I’ll know what to do._      

She reached him in only a few steps and she was wrong, she did _not_ know what to do.  This was too new, too unfamiliar, and she wished he would do something to let her know she was on the right track.  She was standing right in front of him, nearly at eye level, but he only watched her with those hard silver eyes, his expression unreadable.   

She bit her lip and stepped closer towards him, positioning herself between his legs and leaning in.  Since he was sitting low on the tub surround he was a little shorter than her, and she saw his eyes drop to her mouth, blinking slowly as if his eyelids were suddenly too heavy to function properly.

“I like the way you blink,” she whispered to him.  His eyes narrowed in confusion and he cocked his head as if trying to figure her words out.

God, if she could have perfectly scripted the absolute dumbest thing to say at that moment it probably would have been ‘I like the way you blink.’  What was wrong with her?  She should probably count herself lucky that he didn’t laugh at her, or call for a psych evaluation.  Maybe she should just not talk.

 _Don’t talk_ she told herself with a nod of her head and wondered if he thought she was going mad.  Maybe she _was_ going mad.  Wasn’t this madness?  She hesitantly reached a hand up to his cheek- his ruined cheek, only because that was the one that was closest- and let her fingers trail down his face to his neck, continuing down to his chest before she gathered the courage to lean in and kiss him.

His lips were softer than she imagined- not that she’d ever imagined his lips, of course- and so warm but frustratingly unyielding.  At first.  Almost like he couldn’t believe what was happening so chose to do nothing.  But finally he began to return the kiss, hesitantly moving his lips against hers as his hand rested lightly at her back and she brought both her hands up to his neck.  His cautiousness was almost as sweet as the taste of him, so cute she wanted to kiss him harder, so she did, because kissing was something she already understood.  If she could lead him through the kissing, maybe he could lead her through the rest. 

It had been a very long time since she’d been kissed, and it was never like this.  Joffrey’s kisses were always sloppy and kind of weird, and she always silently wished they could make kissing an end-of-the-date thing and not an all-through-the-date thing.  But this was different.  There was something in this kiss that felt like a promise, and she found herself melting into it, intrigued by where it would take her.  She wished he would put his other arm around her and wondered why he wouldn’t, until she heard a clanking and her eyes flew open to see his beer rolling around in the tub. 

“Your beer…”

“Fuck the beer,” he rasped breathlessly and pulled her back in for a kiss, this time more urgent, more passionate, his tongue flicking lightly over her lip before slipping into her mouth.  With her eyes closed she could still tell he was burned, could feel exactly where the scars started, but it didn’t bother her.  If anything it excited her, and she lost herself to him and that kiss, even as he dragged his lips down her neck, over her collar bones and lower, even as his he eased the straps of her dress down to expose her skin and pressed his mouth to her breast.

Her head rolled back and she sighed softly when his teeth grazed lightly against her nipple, her legs turning to jelly and threatening to collapse underneath her.  They were definitely going into new territory, and she was surprised that something so simple could feel so good.  He brought a hand up to caress her other breast, his thumb teasing her much like his tongue was, his other hand at her back.  And she wasn’t as nervous as she thought she would be, because she knew him, knew these hands, these strong and hard and _wonderful_ hands, and knew that she could trust them. 

He shifted his attention to her other breast, licking and nipping in the same way.  It wasn’t shocking anymore, but still felt just as amazing, maybe even _more_ amazing, and she raised one hand from his neck to thread her fingers through his hair.  She could let him do that _forever_.  It was both exciting and terrifying to know that there was even more to do past this point, things that could feel just as good even if it wasn’t… _everything_.

The top of her dress was around her waist when he danced her backwards to the shower and she knew immediately what he meant to do, wasn’t surprised when he opened the door and flipped the water on.   She knew it meant getting naked with him, but… she was alright with it, was ready for it, and didn’t even flinch when he peeled her dress off of her and let it drop to the floor in a heap.

 _Maybe_ it was the wrong philosophy, but she suddenly found it completely unfair that she was down to her underwear and sandals and he was still fully dressed, so she tugged at his shirt to rectify the situation, sliding her hands under the hem and into the coarse hair of his stomach.  There was a _lot_ of hair, even more than she thought- not that she’d ever thought about this, of course.  She pushed his shirt up so she could see him, see the smooth skin of his chest and lots of scars underneath the hair.  She pressed a gentle kiss to his breast bone and wondered how he got those scars, wondered if he would tell her if she asked.  But the thought evaporated into a thin wisp of smoke when he reached up and pulled the garment up and off of him, tossing it to the floor before pulling her in again for another heated kiss.    

He seemed somehow bigger with his shirt off.  _An optical illusion!_ her brain provided unhelpfully, but she once again tamped that nonsense down and focused on the man in front of her.  And she was a little nervous, a little uncertain about what she was supposed to do, except now that she’d decided she wanted him naked she kind of wanted it to be _now._   So when his lips returned to hers, her hands went to the waist of his jeans, pulling at his belt, undoing the button.  She could tell by the way he was shifting that he was taking off his shoes, so she did the same, then he slipped her underwear off of her and helped her finish undressing him, never breaking the kiss.  Oh God, she was naked, really naked, and kissing a man who was also naked, really _really_ naked.    

She didn’t like the mirror, did NOT like the mirror.  If it was just her and him she could sort of pretend she was some other girl- an older, more experienced girl.  But that mirror kept reminding her that she was just Sansa, and right then she really didn’t need that.  So she closed her eyes tighter and reminded herself that she could do anything she wanted, as long as she wanted it.  If she wanted to be Sexy Sansa, then by golly she’d be Sexy Sansa. 

She pressed her body against his and was rewarded with a heavenly groan.  Ha!  See, she could do this; she just had to think sexy.  With the sound of his groan and heavy breathing goading her on, she felt confident enough to pull away from him and lead him into the shower.  Which must have been the right move, because immediately upon entering the steamy stream of water he wrapped his arms around her again, one hand gripping a breast while the other slowly snuck its way down between her legs.

It wasn’t really a surprise that he touched her there, not really.  It _was_ a surprise how her body reacted to it, just the brush of his fingers against her skin was so overwhelming it was nearly painful and she gasped loudly at this new sensation.  Too loudly, she thought, and a little embarrassing.  He seemed to like it, though, and pulled her closer, and she could feel him hard against her back as he continued his exploration of her body.  Somehow she hadn’t noticed _that_ when they were kissing, but she sure as heck noticed it _now_.  Eventually he turned her to face him, kissing her again and grinding his hips into her stomach, hands gripping her backside.  He seemed to know what he wanted, seemed to know what he was doing, and she was honestly rather glad he was doing it.         

Although she still couldn’t figure out what _she_ was supposed to do.  She knew she should probably touch him, and kind of wanted to, but she didn’t know _how_.  Was she supposed to just reach right down and go for it?  That… didn’t seem right.  Come on Sansa- you can do this, just think sexy thoughts.  What would Sexy Sansa do?  Gathering her courage with a roll of her head, she moved both hands to his chest, then let one slide slowly down over the hard muscles of his belly, through that happy little trail of hair, down towards…

Holy Moses, it was _not_ what she was expecting.  She’d never touched a man before, never even really _seen_ a man before, not like this, and… there just seemed to be an awful lot going on down there.  It was so much harder and heavier and _hotter_ than she ever imagined- not that she ever imagined this, of course- and somehow still weirdly soft.  And this was all supposed to go… no, that couldn’t be right.  Something was wrong; one of them was hopelessly flawed.  Probably him.  Oh no, what if it was her?  What would he think? 

Still channeling Sexy Sansa, she focused on the task at hand *cough* and touched him how she wanted him to touch her- softly, gently, carefully.  She moved slowly over the entire length of him using just the barest brush of her fingertips, not wanting to be too aggressive, not wanting to hurt him.  His breathing was coming in ragged and hard and she was starting to feel more confident in what she was doing, so her other hand glided down his body to join the first one.  Even with both hands she still wasn’t sure how best to touch him so she handled him delicately, as if he might break, suddenly worried that her fingers might be too strong for him.  His entire body was trembling at that point, and after only a few more heartbeats of playing he groaned loudly through clenched teeth, but it sounded more tortured than pleased.  Oh God, she was hurting him!

He was still shaking when he grabbed her wrists and gently pulled her arms up around him, drawing her closer, both hands splayed across her lower back as he pressed himself hard against her.  _Really_ hard.  If she was hurting him before then it seemed he had forgiven her, judging by how close he held her, how he rubbed himself against her, water still pouring over them and seeming to magnify the heat they were generating.  There was a sort of nervous energy in him, something coiled tightly and ready to strike, almost dangerous but still frighteningly beautiful, and she was still a little nervous but she wasn’t scared.  Not of _him._      

She had thought, a little naively, that if they were in the shower then it was a guarantee that they would _not_ be having sex, not right now at least.  But she was starting to get the impression that she was so incredibly wrong.  She could just tell by the way he touched her, the way he held her, the way he kept gripping her hips… this was going somewhere.  And she needed to decide, right now, if she wanted it to.

 _If you want him to stop, tell him now._  The words were on replay in her head, reminding her she needed to make a decision, insisting that she make a decision.  But she could barely hear that chanting in the back of her mind, too focused on a bigger, much more urgent problem.  She’d spent plenty of time charting fertility with Robb’s wife Jeyne, so she knew she could figure this out.  So let’s see… first day, last period, ovulation in week three, safe at the end of week four, carry the nine, divide by two, THINK, SANSA! 

His kisses became more desperate and she liked it, hands gliding over her back, pulling her closer with every move, pressing her hard against him- it just felt so _good_.  It felt _right_.  She knew she should ask him if he had any protection they could use, but instead she decided to rely on the math, because she’d always been good at math.  So she didn’t ask him for anything, and didn’t tell him to stop, and when he lifted her off the ground and pushed her against the wall she just… let it happen.

It was nice, at first, the feel of him there and her legs wrapped loosely around his waist.  Until she realized that he hadn’t actually _done_ anything yet, was only preparing, shifting himself to get just the right position.  And then, God, and then he moved so slowly into her she thought she might pass out from the pain, and she gripped tightly at his shoulders.  It was excruciating, mitigated only by the groan of pleasure he emitted as he finally pushed himself fully inside.   

“Ah, fuck, Sansa,” he rasped brokenly against her ear, voice shaking.  “You feel so good.”

She liked that, she supposed, because the alternative would be that she did _not_ feel good, and that would just be embarrassing.  Somewhere deep in the corners of her mind she thought that maybe she was supposed to say something similar back, but she couldn’t; she could pretend to know what she was doing, but she could never lie to him. 

His mouth sought hers and she was grateful, slipping a hand behind his neck to kiss him harder while her other hand clutched desperately at his back, but he pulled away quickly and adjusted his hands on her body before beginning to move.  It was not like anything she’d ever imagined.  Not that she’d imagined this, of course, but… she never could have conjured up something so weirdly intimate, the way she could feel every ripple of his skin deep within her.  It was enough to distract her from the pain, at least partially, so she focused on those unexpected sensations and closed her mind to the rest, the fluidity of his movements washing over her much like the warm water from the shower.

It was not so bad.  At first.  But gradually, steadily, his slower thrusts had yielded to something much stronger.  And he was _relentless_ , pounding her hard against the tile and burying himself deeper, and she dug her fingernails into the skin on his back because she didn’t know what else to do.  Oh God, but it _hurt._   How could something she actually wanted turn into something so horrifying so quickly?  And would it ever get better?  She started breathing heavily in an effort to deal with the pain, occasionally letting out a whimper that might have been closer to a moan.  And it helped, some, the flush of oxygen giving her a heady feeling that seemed to complement the attention given to the rest of her body.

He was talking to her… or to himself… he was definitely talking, that much she knew, even if she couldn’t hear the words, but mostly he was growling and panting with every thrust.  She kind of liked that- the sound of him as he came undone in her arms, the knowledge that he’d been reduced to this incoherent animal and she had been the one to do it.  She pushed into him and pulled him tighter against her and was repaid with a deep groan for her minimal efforts.  She liked that, too, and smiled smugly against his neck.

The pain was thankfully starting to subside again, the water washing over their joined bodies, and she found herself wondering, stupidly, if she’d used enough thin-set when they installed the tile or if all this pounding might knock it all down.  And then she _knew_ she’d gone mad; how could she worry about her craftsmanship at a time like this?  Although it did feel weirdly appropriate to be learning yet another new thing from him, here, in this bathroom; yet another new thing they were doing together.  She smiled at the thought, the memories, and sighed his name up to him before she could remind herself that she wasn’t supposed to be talking.

His movements became suddenly erratic and his pace slowed, but it seemed like he was pushing even harder, using way more force than absolutely necessary.  And all she could do was hold tighter, gripping at him, listening to his labored breathing and feeling his body tremble before finally, finally, finally, he pushed hard against her with a roar and shuddered into stillness.

For just a moment she could imagine it was just the two of them and no one else in the entire world, but slowly she came back to real life and the soothing sound of the shower.  The water was still washing over them and she was glad of it, grateful for the warm relief it provided, but he wasn’t moving anymore, and that was a relief, too.     

“What’s wrong?”

She was grimacing.  She didn’t realize she was grimacing until he asked her that, but then she couldn’t _stop_ grimacing.  It was too overwhelming- physically, mentally, emotionally- and she was unprepared for this onslaught of feelings. 

He set her back on her feet and removed his arms.  “What’s wrong?”

Suddenly exposed in every sense of the word, she instinctively crossed her arms to cover what she could and cleared her throat.  “Sandor…”

He didn’t say anything, just peered down at her, waiting for her to answer his question.  And she didn’t know where to look.  If she looked up, she’d see him; if she looked down, she’d see… him.  So she looked to the side, at nothing in particular, and took several calming breaths before answering.

“I’ve never… done that… before.” 

She could almost _feel_ the difference in the air between them.  “Which part?” he asked hesitantly.

“Aaaaahhh…. _all_ … of it.”

_“Never?”_

She pressed her lips together and shook her head, still averting her eyes.  “Well, I’ve kissed before, but… not the rest.  It wasn’t _obvious?”_   She’d been so nervous the entire time, so hesitant, so unsure; surely he could tell that she didn’t know what she was doing.

“How is that _possible?”_

It was such an odd question that it took her by surprise.  “Well, I haven’t dated since I was… fifteen… so…”  But he already knew that story; she wasn’t going to get into it again.

“Did it… hurt?”

Sansa took a deep breath and let it out completely.  “What’s the right answer?”

“Uh, the _truth,”_ he growled.

She wasn’t really sure he was going to like the truth, but she told him anyway.  “Yes.”

“A _lot?”_

“Yep.”

“Fuck.  Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I don’t know,” she mumbled softly.  But she _did_ know.  She didn’t tell him because she didn’t _want_ him to know, wasn’t sure how he’d react, didn’t want him to get all weird about it.  She thought maybe she could fake her way through it, and she had been… sort of successful?  Maybe?

She was very keenly aware that she was still naked and he was still looking at her, and wondered if she should ask him where the towels were or if that would be rude.  How long had they been in there?  A _while_ , she thought.  It certainly seemed like a long time but the water still rained down on them hot and soothing.

“That’s quite an impressive water heater you’ve got,” she said inanely.

He shook his head.  “It’s tankless.”

“I don’t know what that means,” she sighed and looked away.  God, could she possibly think of a dumber thing to talk about while standing naked with a guy?  No, she probably could not.

“You should have told me, Sansa.”

“Why does it matter?” she asked, helplessly.

“Just…it could have been different.  If I knew.”

“It _could?”_ she squinted up at him. 

He looked as baffled as she felt.  “Well…yeah… I could have… gone slower… been more… uh, gentle.”

_“Really?”_

“Why is that so hard to believe?”

“I don’t know, I guess I just figured it happened however it happened; you’d do what you do and that was that.”  She was waving her hands in front of her like an idiot, and he started laughing.  Loudly.  _“What?!”_

He wrapped an arm around her and pulled her tight against him, a move that maybe could’ve been sensual but instead was sort of sweet.  “I guess you wouldn’t know better, would you?” 

“It really wasn’t obvious?”

“Oh, right, I forgot- you have to be perfect at everything.”

“It’s an admirable life goal,” she shot back playfully. 

He hesitated a moment, as if choosing his words.  “Well… you were pretty nervous.  _That_ was obvious.  And your dirty talk was just terrible.”

“My _dirty_ talk?”

“You told me you like how I _blink.”_

Oh God, she knew that would come back to haunt her, and she plowed her head into his chest with a giggle.  He was laughing at her.  Jerk.  She turned her face up to him in what she hoped looked like confidence but broke quickly into another giggle.  “What, that didn’t turn you on?”

“Everything about you turns me on,” he murmured and leaned down to capture her mouth with his, and she had the same feeling she’d had earlier, the one where she would swear she was melting into him.  Part of her wanted to stay here in his embrace just a little longer, but the other part of her didn’t protest when he turned off the water and led her out of the shower.

Moments later when they were dressed again and she was braiding her hair in a futile attempt to hide the fact that it was wet, she glanced at his reflection in the mirror. 

“I don’t suppose you have a hair tie lying around here somewhere.”

He looked taken aback by her request, and she almost told him she was joking, of course he wouldn’t have a hair tie lying around, when he walked over towards the vanity and opened a drawer, reached in, and held up a hair tie.  _Her_ hair tie.  She’d always come prepared with extra when she was working here, so it was no wonder she’d left one or two behind, but… he’d _kept_ it.  He had kept her hair tie, had it tucked away neatly in a drawer, even though he thought he would never see her again.  Maybe _because_ he thought he would never see her again.  It was a little thing, really, such a silly little thing, but somehow cemented everything she’d been feeling for the past two weeks.

“You _like_ me.”  She’d never been so certain of anything in her life.  She thought.  Maybe.

He huffed a little laugh at her statement but didn’t answer, and she started thinking again that she’d misread everything.  But finally he admitted it reluctantly.  “Yeah.  I guess I do.”  Then he glanced at her in a way that made her think he was nervous.  “And…you…?

She knew what he was asking, but thought it funny he wouldn’t finish his question.  Had he not been paying any attention to the last thirty minutes?

“Oh _God_ , no,” she insisted with a smile.  “You’re _awful_.  Mean, and condescending, and… old.  _So_ old.”

“I’m not _that_ old.”  He was doing that thing, the one where he drew his mouth up tight so that she couldn’t see his smile, but she could still see it in his eyes.

She pulled her hair over her shoulder and played with the ends.  This conversation was making her feel like she was back in seventh grade again but hell, seventh grade wasn’t such a bad year.  “Yeah, I like you.”

_“Why?”_

“I… just do.  Why do you like me?”

“You want a list?”

“Yes,” she said playfully.  “I want a long list of all my many wonderful qualities.”

“Well…” he began.  “You’re tall… and you did all this work in my bathroom… and then you let me fuck you in it…”

“Oh, I don’t like this list at _all_.”

“It’s a good list!”

 _“Try again,”_ she demanded with a growl.

“OK,” he rasped, putting a hand at her back and pulling her into a gentle embrace.  “You’re smart... and funny... easy to talk to… easy to listen to… easy to be around…”

“Keep calling me easy, mister, see where it gets you.”

He laughed softly and kissed the top of her head.  “It’s not a bad thing.”   Well, when he said it like _that_ , it sure didn’t sound bad.  The compliments and playful banter were obviously not something he was comfortable with, but since he did it anyway it seemed… honest, somehow.  More genuine… and kind of adorable.

She relaxed into his embrace, smiling, feeling like she belonged there, like maybe she could stay there forever.  God, what was wrong with her?  She hadn’t been interested in guys at all since Joffrey broke up with her, spent the last seven years pretending men didn’t even exist.  And now the first guy that catches her eye she has crazy shower sex with and thinks this could last forever?  This was _not_ how things were supposed to be done, _not_ the way you started lasting relationships.  You meet, you date, you fall in love, _then_ sex, and _then_ forever… geez, she’d skipped too many important steps.  Had she screwed it up before they could even get started? 

Leaning away from him, she glanced up into his eyes, taking in that familiar face that used to scare the daylights out of her.  It was not a handsome face, no, but she admired it all the same; she _desired_ it all the same.  How could that be wrong?    

“I think… maybe… we should wait… a while,” she said slowly, hoping he would get her meaning.  But judging by his narrowed eyes and curious expression, he was not picking up what she was putting down.  “I just… think we should take, like, eighty steps backwards.  Start over again.”

She saw the look of understanding cross his eyes, but he didn’t seem disappointed, only concerned.  “But… I would still get to see you?”

“Yes.”

“Would I get to hold your hand?”

Awwww.  “Alright.”

“Would I still get to do this?”  He tipped her face up to him with just the barest touch under her chin and pressed a gentle kiss against her lips.

“OK,” she whispered.  “But… nothing else.  For a while.”

“A while, huh?”  He still didn’t look disappointed; if anything he looked… cautious.  “You make it sound like this might be a long-term thing.”

She hadn’t really thought it in those terms but she supposed that yes, she _did_ think this was going to be a long-term thing, and now that she’d thrown it out there she was suddenly nervous.  “Would that be ok?”

“Fine with me,” he rasped softly, running fingers down her arms.  “As long as I get to see you.”

Wow.  She wasn’t really sure how he would react to her request, wasn’t sure what she was hoping to hear from him, but… dang, that was a really good answer.

With another quick kiss and a hand at her back, he guided her over to the door and out of the bathroom.  The bedroom door was closed and locked.  That was weird; she was fairly certain it wasn’t closed earlier.  She stopped before they could reach it, though, because she truthfully wasn’t ready for this time together to end.  Right now, on this side of the door, it felt so real.  Would it feel that way on the other side?

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” she said with a shake of her head.

She glanced subtly over at the bed and the pile of adorable pillows, not really thinking they would do anything but still wondering what it would be like if they were- _oh, I don’t know, maybe_   _laying_ down.  It was only natural, she thought, after what they’d just done to imagine the rest of it, in the way it was supposed to be, with the full weight of him on top of her...  She could feel a blush creep across her neck, but reminded herself that her thoughts didn’t mean anything, not really, it was just curiosity, and no big deal, as long as she kept it to herself.  It wasn’t like he could read her mind. 

“You said we were going to wait a while!” 

Oh no, he _could_ read her mind.

“Yes.  A while,” she agreed with a firm nod, and pulled him down into a quick kiss before leading him towards the bed.  “Starting tomorrow.”     

 


	2. Lock the Door

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Option B: Wild-eyed vixen

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the alternate ending to UC. These chapters are completely different stories. You'll get yourself confused if you try to put them together, lol. Chapter 1 or Chapter 2, Option A or Option B, two different endings to the same story. Read them both, and pick a favorite.
> 
> And as always, thanks for reading!!!

 

_Fuck, Sansa, what are you doing?_

It had been two weeks since he’d seen her, two weeks since he left that stuffed animal in her car like a ridiculous love-sick teenager, two weeks and he’d heard nothing.  He wasn’t sure what kind of reaction he expected from his little gesture, but her radio silence had been enough to cement his belief that it was hands-down the dumbest thing he’d ever done.  Unless that’s what led to _this_.

Because _this…_ hell, to say he was surprised by her actions would be the understatement of the century.  Shutting the door like that, locking it… that _meant_ something.  But did it mean what he _thought_ it meant, what he _hoped_ it meant?  He’d frozen when she did that, unsure of what to do, unsure of what to make of it; and so he was just sitting there, staring at her like a half-wit, waiting to see what would happen next.

She approached him confidently, a sly smile playing at her lips and eyes dancing with promise, hips swinging ever-so-slightly.  If she turned and walked out the door right then he would forever remember the way she had looked at him, would always look back at that moment as one of the best of his life.  But she didn’t turn, didn’t leave, and didn’t waste any time, positioning herself between his legs before grabbing him by the neck and pulling him in for a kiss. 

He’d been wound up tight since the second he heard the click of the lock, and things had gotten progressively worse for him with every passing second so that now he was certain if he moved he might break something.  But feeling her lips pressed against his, tasting the vodka and lime on her, he finally had an opportunity to release some of that tension.  And he seized it; literally.  He wrapped an arm around her and pulled her in so tight he thought surely he’d scare her, surely she’d come to her senses and go running.  But she didn’t- she wriggled up closer to him and deepened the kiss.

He fumbled blindly with his beer, trying to set it on the edge of the tub surround but he missed and it clattered into the tub and she wrenched away from him quickly to see what made the noise.

“Your beer…” she murmured breathlessly.

“Fuck the beer,” he growled and pulled her in tighter, kissing her hard, but she kissed him back just as hard, her tongue licking quickly across his upper lip before dipping in to fully explore his mouth.  He wouldn’t exactly call himself an expert in kissing but fuck it all, he was _trying_ to keep up with her, but she was stampeding ahead before he could even think, tugging his shirt up to reach the skin underneath.    

There was no resistance when he slid the straps of her dress down her shoulders, no opposition to the kisses he pressed to her neck, nothing but encouragement when his lips finally found their way to a rosy nipple.  She abandoned his shirt to thread fingers through his hair, holding his head firmly in place while he nipped and sucked at her breasts, one then the other, relishing the feel of the pebbled flesh against his tongue.  Fuck it all, she was perfect, the way she was gasping out little moans and writhing in his arms was more than he ever imagined.  And he had imagined her a _lot._            

Letting his desire lead him, he stood and walked her backwards to the shower, opening the door and flipping the water on as quickly as he could while she tugged at his belt buckle.  He didn’t know why he made a bee-line for the shower instead of the bed; maybe because she was the one who had closed the door and he was not about to open it until he saw where this was going.  So he let her undress him while he finished undressing her, each of them awkwardly taking their shoes off but never breaking the kiss.  He was wearing way more clothes than she was but somehow she had managed to get him undressed first.  Eager little bird.  He would have laughed if he wasn’t so turned on.

Together they moved into the streaming hot water of the shower, clutching at each other as if their lives depended on it.  And for a moment he just held her as he kissed her, just felt her warm body pressed against his, her skin so soft and smooth and perfect.  Eventually, though, his hands wanted to wander, and hers did too, and they explored each other’s bodies between breathless kisses.  At some point she grabbed his body wash, lathering them both up with slippery delight, massaging the soap into the hair on his chest and stomach and lower. 

He was rock hard at that point, and really impossible to ignore, but she didn’t really act like she _wanted_ to ignore it, instead grabbing between his legs with a firm and expert touch that was almost shockingly exquisite.  A groan ripped out of him with a roar and his hands shot instinctively to the walls to hold himself up as she skillfully worked him with both hands.  Wow, she sure as fuck knew what she was doing.  And it was… good.  _So_ good.  Really really good.  _Too_ good.  Like, maybe he should tell her to stop it was just that good.  Yeah, he should tell her to stop.  Any second now he would tell her to stop.

Fuck… too late.

A teensy tiny part of his brain told him that it was too soon, he should have held out, he was screwing himself over by giving up so easily.  But the _rest_ of his brain- the rest of his _body_ \- was too wracked with ecstasy to care.  His legs were shaking like he’d just run a marathon, even though it had only been… what, a minute?  A whole minute and she had done all the work, and he was just standing there trembling like a newborn colt.  For a heartbeat he was afraid to look at her, afraid to see if she was disappointed.  Except he couldn’t _not_ look at her, not when he knew full well she was naked and soapy, so he took a risk and glanced down.

Well, she wasn’t disappointed.  In fact, judging by the smug look across her beautiful face she was really fucking pleased with herself, and he realized she’d gotten him off on purpose.  Which was good, he supposed, cause if that _wasn’t_ her intention then that would just be embarrassing.  Even better was that she didn’t seem like she wanted to stop, and pulled him down by his neck for a feverish kiss.

He was happy to keep going now that it was _his_ turn to play with _her_ body, and since he wasn’t so agitated anymore he could really take his time.  So he did.  He used more soap to lather her up, touching her everywhere, never stopping in any one spot for very long cause he couldn’t stop touching her.  She couldn’t stop touching him, either, her slender fingers traced patterns into the suds on his chest, gliding down several long scars and pausing just a little over the smaller ones.  Maybe someday he would tell her how he got all those scars, but right now… no, right now there was simply no room for serious conversation.  Or _any_ conversation.      

He turned her around so she was facing away from him then pulled her flush against his chest, and her arms went back over her head and around his neck.  Looking down at her long body, her breasts raised up like that, nipples poking out from behind bubbles… it was better than he ever thought, and he had thought about her naked body a _lot_.  God, she was gorgeous.  He kept one hand on her stomach while his other caressed each breast in turn, but her sweet little moans made him forget he wanted to go slow, and he soon slid the stationary hand down between her legs.  Maybe it was the soap, or maybe it was the water, or maybe she was just really fucking wet for him, but in any case his fingers slipped easily into her and she met him with a contented sigh.  And that was really all the encouragement he needed to keep going, withdrawing and teasing her with a gentle brush of his fingertips before pushing into her again.  Judging by the way her breath hitched she must have really liked it, which was good because he really liked it, too.

He didn’t know if he could do for her what she had just done for him, wasn’t sure how to go about it, where to start.  But she didn’t really seem like she even wanted that, and spun in his arms so she could kiss him, pressing up against him.  It seemed like no time at all before he was hard again, but that wasn’t too surprising considering the crazy dream he was having.  He’d have to be dead to not get turned on by the girl currently in his arms, even if he _had_ just spent himself in her hands not long ago.  She must have noticed- hell, how could she _not_ \- because she turned the water off and gently nudged him out of the shower.  He had a pretty good idea of what she intended.

They didn’t bother with towels or anything, just walked soaking wet from the shower straight over to the door, still kissing , hands still pulling at each other’s bodies in a sort of awkward dance.  Leaving the bathroom, he was prepared to sprint across the bedroom to close the door, but it was already closed.  And locked.  That was weird; he knew full well it wasn’t closed _before_ they went in the bathroom.  The little bird took advantage of his temporary distraction to seize control and turned him around to push him onto the bed.

It wasn’t that she was strong enough to really push him around, it was just that he was more than happy to do what she wanted.  So when he was sitting down and she pushed on his chest again, he dutifully scooted further onto the bed.  She crawled up after him, running her hands over his thighs, eyes on his in a way that could make him forget just how fucking ugly he was.  It was already nearly too much for him to see her like that, too close to perfection, so that when she stopped and took him into her mouth he thought (again) that he must be dreaming.    

So many times he’d imagined this exact thing, but never imagined that it would feel so incredible, her luscious pink lips circling him, moving slowly up and down as her tongue swirled decadently around the head.  She kept her hands on his thighs, using only her mouth to please him- which was probably a good thing, to be honest, the sensation was already too close to overwhelming.   He’d gladly let her do that forever.  Except he _couldn’t_ let her do that forever, not when there were other things he wanted to do.        

She must have read his mind because she didn’t stay down there for very long, instead moving gracefully up over him, straddling his hips as she took him into her hand.  She held him firmly, tugged at him to guide him closer and rubbed just his tip against the wetness between her legs.  He was mesmerized by the sight of it, couldn’t look anywhere else but at the vision of her sinking onto his swollen cock, the bliss almost excruciating as he was left gasping for air. 

“Ah, fuck, Sansa,” he rasped brokenly.  “You feel so good.”

For a moment he held her firmly against him, trying to get used to her, his eyes squeezed shut and head pressed back into the bed.  He could feel her lean forwards, the heat of her body against his and her breath at his chin- “say that again.”

His eyes blinked open.  _“What?”_ he spluttered, sounding as helpless as he felt.  Say _what_ again?  Had he _said_ something?  He couldn’t remember saying _anything_.

She smiled and giggled, giving him a quick peck on his gaping mouth.  Then she took a deep breath and sighed sweetly for him, arching her body up and away till she was sitting astride him like a fucking goddess.  Never in his life had he seen anything as glorious as that, never had he felt anything so amazing.  Until she started moving. 

As overwhelmed as he already felt, he couldn’t resist watching her lifting up and sliding back down onto him with a firm roll of her hips, over and over as her hands rubbed up and down his stomach, her breasts subtly bouncing in time with the rhythm she’d set.  He was dreaming for sure, he knew that, because something like this could never happen in real life, much less to an ugly fucked-up asshole like him.

It was so unlike anything he’d ever experienced.  He’d been with women before, lots of different women, but it had always been sort of a competition, each trying to get more than the other, and he had no real idea of how to please a woman.  But she sure as fuck knew how to please _him_.  And maybe it was his imagination, but it almost seemed like all she really _wanted_ was to please him. 

She was still caressing him as she rode him, her hands wandering and fingers gripping into his sides like she was trying to absorb him.  She reached one of her hands behind her and placed it on his thigh before sliding it down between his legs and cupping his balls.  A groan tore out of him then and she matched it with a breathless little moan of her own as she caressed him, squeezing gently, and after a while she brought both hands to his shoulders and looked at him through heavy lids.    

“You got anything?”

Her expression was clearly concerned though she hadn’t stopped moving, and it was really hard to concentrate on what she was saying.  But he understood what she was asking for, and no, he didn’t have anything.  Fuck.

“No,” he spat bitterly, holding onto those enchanting hips that still hadn’t stopped moving.  He saw her face twist into disappointment, her eyelashes fluttering like she was thinking something over, even as she ground harder into his lap.  “Do you want to stop?”  _Please say no, fuck, please say no._  

She shook her head.  “It’s alright,” she told him, then gave him a little smile.  “I did the math.”

He had no idea what that meant but knew better than to question her about math, even now with his brain churned into mush.  He nearly wept in relief when she sat back up and pushed down even harder. 

It was almost painfully slow, the way she touched him, the way she rode him, hard and deep but oh so _slow_ , truly the sweetest kind of torture there was.  He could feel her eyes burning into him, though he couldn’t wrench his gaze away from her hips if he tried.  Seeing himself disappearing repeatedly into the patch of curly hair, imagining putting his tongue there, what she would taste like… fuck, how could he be so close already?  If it hadn’t been for that little interlude in the shower he would have made a quick mess of this _long_ ago, and she’d be left shaking her head at him like he was some inexperienced little boy.  But even now he was so close he felt almost as stupid.

He closed his eyes and concentrated only on feeling her until he calmed down a bit, then let his hands wander up to her breasts and she very considerately pressed herself into him so he could get a proper handful.  His thumbs worked over her nipples in circles and she sighed in pleasure, her own hands resting firmly on his shoulders and still rocking into him...  It was too much, damn it, he had to get control over this situation before it got out of hand.

She didn’t protest when he pulled her down for a kiss, instead straightening her legs and pressing against him like she knew what would happen next.  He held her flush against him and rolled them both over, never parting as he tossed more pillows out of the way. 

Now nestled snuggly between her legs, he felt in control, like he was on more familiar ground.  He propped himself up on both elbows so he could watch her as he thrust into her at the same pace she had set earlier, her lips parting with every gasp.  All five of his senses were in breathtaking agony, inundated by the sight of her, the taste, the smell, the sound, the feel, oh God, the _feel_ of her….   

“You’re holding back,” she panted up at him, running her nails down his spine.  And he _was_ holding back, was trying desperately to keep it going a little longer, as long as possible.   

“I don’t want it to be over yet,” he murmured, hoping she would understand. 

“Then we’ll do it again later,” she promised.  “Stop holding back.”

He felt her nails scratch hard all the way down his back and grab his ass, pulling him closer, and he almost laughed at her not-exactly-subtle demand but really, how could he argue?  So he gave himself over to her completely, lost himself in her, so hot and heavenly.  He couldn’t have stopped then even if he wanted to, the pleasure too intense and almost painful.   

It was a sword’s edge, this feeling- strong and dangerous, but precarious, almost delicate, and he knew he could tumble off the end at any moment even as he pushed harder and deeper and faster into her.  Her fingers dug into him and she met every one of his moves with fervor, as desperate for him as he was for her, and soon he felt her clenching around him, heard her cry out… and he was sliding down that sword’s edge, so sharp and beautiful, and crashing down into her with the intensity of a tidal wave as everything else in the world slipped silently away. 

It seemed to take ages before his mind returned to his body and then, looking down at her, knowing what she’d given him, knowing what he’d given her… he felt like a _god_ , like he should be taking a victory lap, hoisting a trophy over his head to millions of screaming fans.  Did they hand out trophies for fucking?  They really should, if they knew what magic had just happened here in this bed. 

She was looking up at him, too, and he was struck by how different she was already.  How could she do that?  Just a minute ago she was a sex goddess, and now she was biting her lip and smiling shyly at him, the same old Sansa that couldn’t figure out how to use a hammer.  It was bizarre, and yet… weirdly comforting.  She was the same old Sansa; and she liked him.

He kissed her softly on the forehead before rolling away but she held onto him like she didn’t want him to go, so they wound up side by side, facing each other, still tangled up in each other’s limbs.  It was yet another new experience for him, but somehow it seemed… right. 

How long they lay there together he couldn’t say.  Ten minutes?  Twenty?  For the longest time he just held her, her head against his bicep and breath tickling his chest hair, each of them with an arm draped loosely around the other.  For the longest time he could pretend this was all that mattered, just him and her and nothing else in the world.  So this was cuddling; this is what other guys complained about.  Didn’t seem so bad, but maybe it depended on who you cuddled with. 

“Do you use all these pillows,” she murmured into his chest.

“You got a problem with my pillows?” 

She huffed a little laugh.  “They’re cute,” she said, rubbing her nose against his collar bone. 

 _You’re cute_ , he wanted to tell her.  No, that would sound idiotic.  He felt like he was supposed to say something, though, but couldn’t think of the right thing.  Thanks?  That was awesome?  Here’s your trophy?  Oh fuck, the thought of handing her a trophy was too much and he had to fight back a laugh, but since her head was right against his chest he couldn’t hide it from her and she pulled away quickly to glance at him.

“What’s funny?” she asked, looking _very_ concerned.  _Too_ concerned, really- she looked almost offended, which only made him laugh harder.  “What?!”

“Nothing.  Nothing, it’s… nothing, really.”  He cleared his throat several times to hide his laughter, but she wasn’t fooled and gave him a murderous look.  “Alright,” he sighed in resignation.  “I was just thinking you deserve some sort of award.”

“An award?” she asked hesitantly, baffled, but then her eyes lit up with realization and a smug smile broke across her face.  “Really?”

“I should have known, since you have to be perfect at everything,” he teased her.  “Not that I’m complaining.”

She giggled at the unusual compliment.  “I wasn’t sure.  It’s been a _really_ long time, and even then it was more like self-defense than anything else.”          

 _Self-defense?_  Was she talking about that little prick that used to beat her?  Someday he was going to track that fucker down and rip him apart with his bare hands.  Why would anyone want to hurt her?  How could anyone look at her delicate features and perfect skin and even _think_ about harming a single auburn hair on her gorgeous head?  He could never do that, and not just because beating women was beneath him, but because he would never ever hurt her.  Not _ever_. 

He ran his knuckles down her neck to her shoulders and continued down her back and heard her sigh into his chest.  He could spend days exploring her body, just touching her, seeing his horrid hands against her pale skin, watching the goosebumps rise in his fingers’ wake.  He wouldn’t even have to do anything else, though he sure as hell would want to.  Even now he could feel the familiar tension coiling in his stomach.  He wasn’t hard per se, but he _could_ be if he _wanted_ to be.  And she _did_ say they could do it again, so...   

“Uh… Sandor…” she started, pulling away from him with a furrowed brow.  And he knew.  Damn it, he _knew_ what was happening.  It was the story of his entire fucking life, that any time a girl let him touch her she’d immediately pull away, and always with the same apologetic line about how sorry she was, it was a mistake and never should have happened.  This was worse, though, cause it was _her_.  She’d gotten too close, had seen too much, not just of his body but somehow inside of him, and he’d _let her_ see him, let her see how stupid and hopeful and _weak_ he was. 

He flopped onto his back, the taste of bitterness too familiar in his mouth, and waited for her to say it, to be done with him.  But the only sound in the entire room was the pounding of his pathetic heart. 

 _“What?”_ he snarled at her after the silence went on too long.

“Never mind,” she snapped haughtily.

“Uh, _no,_ you got something to say, you need to say it.”

“Maybe I don’t want to.”  

 _The fuck?_   He sat up slowly and turned to her, looming over her and growling like the beast he was.  “Spit it out, girl.”

He was making her uncomfortable, he knew; she wouldn’t even look at him, looked over towards the window like a helpless little bird plotting her escape.  “It’s just…” she began, obviously unsettled.  “I think… can we maybe… go on a _date_ some time?”

It was so far from what he was expecting that he actually recoiled in surprise, then sat staring down at her with his mouth hanging open like some big dumb dog.

Was he dreaming?  Was he dead?  Had he maybe died sometime and didn’t realize it?  No, if he had died he would sure as fuck be in hell right now, so _WHAT_ was going on?  How was it that he had this girl- this beautiful, smart, funny _woman_ \- naked in his bed and asking for a date?  It defied all logic.   

He pulled away from her, rolling again to his back so that she couldn’t see him, couldn’t see the shock plastered across his ugly face, but she sat up just as quickly and turned to him.  Now s _he_ was looming over _him_ , and he dropped an arm over his eyes as if to keep her out.

“What did you _think_ I was going to say?” she asked him.

“Nothing,” he mumbled.

“Uh, _no,_ you got something to say, you need to say it.”  Damn it, she was really good at throwing his own words back at him like that, he wasn’t sure if he should be impressed or annoyed.  “What did you think I was going to say?” she asked again.

He took a deep breath before answering.  “That it was a mistake.”

Again there was complete silence, except this time even his stupid heart seemed like it was no longer beating.  He would have thought himself alone if he couldn’t feel the warmth of her body against his.  And then, after a moment, her hair brushed against his chest, followed by her fingers tracing patterns into his skin.

“ _Was_ it a mistake?” she asked gently.

“Not to me.”

Her fingers kept moving, up and down, over his shoulders, his neck, his collar bones, down to his stomach…  “You sure?  It wasn’t very responsible.”

She was teasing him, he realized, could hear it in her voice, could feel it in the way she touched him.

“Not very proper, either,” she scolded.  “You should be ashamed of yourself- taking a girl to bed before you’ve even taken her on a date.”

He didn’t want to admit that was usually the way it was for him; better to keep that shit to himself.  But he raised his arm and looked at her, saw her biting her bottom lip like she was nervous, and he felt his chest seize painfully.  If she wanted a fucking date- God only knew why- he’d give her one.  He’d do anything she wanted, anything at all. 

Wrapping an arm around her, he rolled and shifted his weight, pulling her under him and burying his face at her neck in one movement, and her wonderful perfect _glorious_ hands ran up and down his back.

“Where do you want to go?” he murmured against her ear.

“Hmmmmm…. how about…. Chicago?”

 _“Chicago?”_ he echoed, sliding his hand over a breast.  “Can’t we go get a milkshake or something?”

“But I’ve never been…” she said with a sigh.

“I don’t know,” he grumbled, trailing his lips down her neck to her collar bones.  “I just spent a ton of fucking money on a house.”

“Ahhhh… I guess it can wait.  Maybe next summer?  I’ll have a job by then, but… ahhhhh…. surely I’ll get a vacation.  And that will give us… ahhhhh… plenty of time to save up.  What do you think?”

He hadn’t stopped what he was doing while she talked, had kissed his way down to her breast and pressed his tongue to her perfectly puckered nipple.  But he heard everything she’d said, every breathless word that had come from her luscious mouth.  She wanted to go to Chicago with him.  Next _year._

He knew he was dreaming then, knew he’d fallen and hit his head and was having a vision of a perfect life that he was never supposed to have.  It wasn’t real.  It _couldn’t_ be real.  Even as he kissed his way back up her neck he knew any second he would wake and it would be over.  But now, in this dream… fuck yeah, he’d take her to Chicago.  He’d take her to get a milkshake, too.  And the movies.  Walks on the beach, candlelight dinners, romantic picnics…  He could see it perfectly- nights snuggled together on his couch watching crappy TV, making her breakfast in bed, finally beating her at basketball, lots and lots of sex of course, and… a little bird wrapped in white, lots of little baby birds playing in a yard, a nest he built for them, birthday parties and Halloween costumes, trips to Disney World, grandkids bouncing on his knee, holding her hand and looking into a wrinkled-but-still-beautiful face, waking up next to her every morning for the rest of his life…     

“Sandor?”

“I’ll take you to Chicago,” he told her.  He left the rest unsaid.

If he wasn’t dead before he was surely dead when she smiled up at him, her relief so obvious it nearly killed him.  She thought he would say no.  She was _worried_ he would say no.  He wanted to tell her he couldn’t ever say no to her, but the words stuck in his throat.  So he kissed her instead, let his hand wander down the length of her body, nudged her legs open with his knees.  He didn’t know if it was the right thing at that moment, if she wanted it or if she minded, but it was the only way he knew to tell her how he felt.

It was different this time, the way he touched her- slower, gentler, he watched her like he was studying her, trying to learn her.  He kissed her different, too; not with the desperate energy of earlier, though he still felt quite desperate for her.  Only now he savored the taste of her, the feel of her tongue against his was like words that had yet to be spoken. 

Even his desire was different.  He still wanted her- fuck, who wouldn’t?- but it was like he wanted something else, like there was some other purpose to what they were doing and she was meeting that purpose gladly.  It was beautiful, really, though he would never ever _ever_ say anything so stupid out loud.  So yeah, it was different- how he kissed her, how he touched her, how he made love to her.  And this time when he came for her it didn’t feel like an end; _this time_ it felt like only the beginning.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think this one is my favorite, which surprises me. But writing Hopeless Romantic Sandor is kinda fun. This chapter is far from perfect but I just can't look at it anymore, it's gonna have to stand as is.
> 
> Many many many thanks to everyone for reading and commenting. I'm really glad I took on this little venture, because it was more fun than I thought it would be, but also very EXHAUSTING! I need a break! And a drink! And a cigarette, lol.


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